


payphone nowhere

by AnInconvenientFrog



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Corn - Freeform, DISCLAIMER: contains underage drinking and smoking, Set in Canada, They're All Gay, eh, homophobia (warnings will be included), jean doesn't trust marco, jean's a lil bitch, jean's such a loser lmao, like rural canada is just, love... square? sort of???, marco's hiding something, marco's new, no smut because they're all minors and it makes me u n c o m f y, sasha and connie have matching ''public castration is a good idea' shirts, there is so much corn, ymir probably killed someone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27748903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnInconvenientFrog/pseuds/AnInconvenientFrog
Summary: Jean Kirstein has come to terms with the fact that high school sucks. In fact, he's almost looking forward to remaining miserable for the next two years. At least it's something he can count on. He's given up on the prospect of romance (my man's got zero game) or even friends (he does have friends, he’s just a dramatic little mf). That is, until he meets Marco Bodt.No one ever chooses to come to Trost. Newcomers are rare. So when Marco Bodt mysteriously arrives, Jean's suspicious. Everyone is enamoured by his sweet smile and soft eyes, but Jean's not buying it. There's something dark lurking behind those warm eyes of his, a faraway place where Marco goes when he thinks no one's watching. Late night stops to a payphone, mysterious disappearances at lunch. Jean doesn't trust Marco, though he does admit he understands why everyone's so enchanted by him. It's not gay to admire another guy's beauty. Right?
Relationships: Armin Arlert & Jean Kirstein, Armin Arlert/Eren Yeager, Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir, Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein, Mikasa Ackerman/Annie Leonhart, Mina Carolina/Annie Leonhart, Reiner Braun/Bertolt Hoover, Sasha Blouse & Connie Springer, Sasha Blouse & Jean Kirstein & Connie Springer
Comments: 20
Kudos: 24





	1. contact

  
High school sucks, but I’ve come to terms with that. I’ve pretty much given up on the prospect of romance (like that was going to happen anyway), or even friends, for that matter (Jean does have friends, he's just a dramatic little mf). I just want to get out of here. 

School starts all too soon. I’m woken up at an abhorrent hour by my sister and her uncanny impression of a dying narwal. I wonder if she’s open to constructive criticism. “Shut the fuck up, Monica!” 

My sister, ever-so-eloquent, responds with a touching: “Wake up, you useless piece of shit!”

I bury myself further into my cocoon of sheets. “Fuck off.”

Monica manages to peel the covers off me, ignoring the string of curses and strange hissing sounds that come out of me when she turns on the lights. Then, just as gracefully as she arrived, she storms out of my room. She did this for what reason?

After I recover from the mortifying ordeal of being awake, I roll my reluctant body out of bed. I somehow bring myself to shower, get dressed, and brush my teeth. I grab a bagel and my lunch, locking up as I leave the house. I don’t realize that I forgot my bag until I arrive at school. I can’t bring myself to care.

I have history with Erwin first. Fucking superb. All of the desks are arranged in pairs. I find a set of desks near the back of the classroom which are empty. I’m very content sitting at my desk. Alone. 

Alone, that is, until a disgruntled boy runs into the class. He’s late. Erwin gives the new kid a calculated look. The freckled boy shifts nervously, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry sir, I, uh, got lost.” 

Erwin leans against his desk. “You’re new, I take it?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” The guy's face turns ridiculously red.

“Just don’t let it happen again.” The kid does an awkward thumbs up. Erwin nods in Jean’s direction. “There’s room in the back.” _Fuck._

“Thank you, sir.”

“And your name is?”

The freckled boy turns to look at the teacher. “Oh, sorry. I’m Marco! Uh, Marco Bodt.” I don’t even know the guy, but I’m about to pass out from second-hand embarrassment. 

Much to my dismay, Marco heads straight to where I’m sitting. It’s not like he really has a choice, though. It’s not like anyone would willingly choose to sit next to me. The freckled kid gives me a small smile, awkwardly sitting down in the seat next to me. “Uh, hi. I’m Marco.” he holds out a hand. I squint at it for an embarrassingly long time, not really sure what I’m supposed to do with it. Marco looks embarrassed, putting his hand down after a while.

I looks over at Marco blankly, way too tired to figure out the fuck was going on with his hand. “Yeah. I gathered.”

Marco flushes again, laughing a little. “Sorry, I guess I’m sort of a mess today.”

I look at Marco’s rumpled clothes and messy hair. “Yeah. I gathered.”

Marco laughs again. What’s this kid on? It’s too early for this. “You really have a way with words...” That sass though. He glances at me. “I don’t think I ever caught your name.”

“It’s okay.” I yawn. I am nothing if not incredibly humble and forgiving. Marco’s still staring at me expectantly, though. “What?”

“Uh, your name?”

“Oh yeah. That.” I attempt a dashing grin. Marco just looks taken aback. It’s been a while since I’ve practiced. I guess Marco cannot fully appreciate the enigma that goes by the name of Jean. “The name’s Jean Kirstein.”

“Jean…” Marco muses. I like the way he says my name. He gives me a wayward smile, the ghost of a dimple appearing on a soft freckled cheek. “I like it.” That makes me feel… some kinda way. I shift uncomfortably, crossing my arms. Marco tilts his head. “Are you French?”

I grimace. “Quebecois, unfortunately.”

He laughs again. “Sounds about right.”

I glare at him. “Excuse you?”

There’s a mischievous gleam in his eyes that doesn’t match the sweet smile he flashes me. “Oh, nothing.”

 _“Ferme ta gueule, tu crétin,”_ I mumble.

Marco looks at me blankly. “What?”

I give a go at a sweet smile. “Oh, nothing.”

Marco mirrors my posture, crossing his arms and leaning back into his chair. “So be it, Kirstein.”

I just narrow my eyes at him. “Bodt.”

We’re interrupted by Erwin. We have to do some stupid thing about what we know about the confederation of Canada. Whoopdeedoo.

I don’t realize that I’ve been intensely glaring at the board until Marco clears his throat. “Uh, Jean?”

I snap out of it, turning to look at Marco. And then at the empty spot where my bag should be. Then back at Marco. “Marco,” I start, “my guy. You don’t happen to have, like, a paper I could borrow? And maybe a pen, while you’re at it?”

Marco raises an eyebrow at me, sporting a slightly infuriating smirk. “The incredible Jean forgot to bring paper to class?” He shakes his head disapprovingly. “What are we going to do with you, Jean?” He sighs, handing me a few sheets of paper and tossing a pen in my direction. “Keep it.”

I fumble with the pen. “Oh, wow. Uh, thanks man. I owe you one.” I make a mental note to return it to him later.

Marco shrugs. “It’s nothing.”

Not really. But I leave it be.

After racking my brain for literally any morsel of information about the constitution for an entire two minutes, I decide that I am going to fail history and should just give up before I put any effort into it. I make the executive decision that my time will be best spent drawing mediocre doodles on my paper. This should be easy, right? WRONG

Marco’s legs are all jittery. They’ve been shaking since he sat down, which didn’t bother me at first. But his tall stature is causing my desk to shake, which makes my doodles look like they were drawn by a small child who took their parent’s adderall. I put a hand on Marco’s leg. His eyes widen. “Chill the fuck out, dude.”

Marco looks like he’s the opposite of chill. His leg has stopped bouncing, but his eyes are huge and his face is beet red. It takes me a moment to realize that my hand _is on Marco’s leg._ When it dawns on me that I'm the source of Marco’s blushing, my face is probably as red as Marco’s. I withdraw my hand right away, running it through his hair in an attempt to look casual, casting my eyes away. Clearing my throat, I add, “You don’t need to drill a hole through the floor, tone it down a little, yeah?”

If it’s possible, Marco flushes even more. “Sorry, I had, like, three energy drinks this morning.”

I squint at the new kid. “What the fuck?”

Marco just smiles sheepishly.

The rest of the period is spent in awkward silence.

As soon as the bell rings, I’m out of there. Well, almost. But as I leave, the pen that Marco lent me is heavy in my pocket. I turn back to where we were sitting, remembering how he got lost on his way here, but he’s already gone at that point. It’s probably for the best. I wasn’t planning on making friends anyway.

My next class is English. I fucking hate this class. I look around the classroom. All the tables have a few people at them. My eyes wander to a blond boy at a table near the middle of the classroom. My heart sinks when he looks up. Armin’s intense eyes bore into mine. I look away. I see Armin wave at me from the corner of my eyes, and try to ignore his hurt expression when I turn away from him. I move to the sit as far away from him as possible; meaning that I end up at a table with Hannah and Franz. They’re all over each other. That’s nasty. I spend the rest of the class waiting for the Earth to swallow me whole.

I leave English at an inhumane speed. Making a beeline for the art room, ready to spend the rest of highschool alone, I don’t notice two arms sticking out to stop me until I walk into them full-force. “Oh, no you don’t mister!”

“You’re not eating lunch in there all alone this year!”

Two different arms snake around my shoulders, turning me around and walking me towards the door. I sigh, hunching in resignation. Connie and Sasha grin at me, which I respond with my typical Jean glare. Sasha pinches my cheek. “Aw, there’s my Jean.”

I glare even harder at her. “I won’t hesitate to bite you.”

Connie guffaws, pulling my head down to his level and ruffling my hair. I recoil. “I missed ya, Jean!”

I grumble, and we do the thing where I pretend I didn’t miss them and they pretend to believe me.

* * *

After their ambush, Connie and Sasha drag me out to the grassy hill that we usually hang out on. Annie, Bertholdt, Reiner, Mikasa, Ymir and Krista are there too. Mikasa and Annie are in an armwrestling match. An excuse to hold hands, if you ask me. Krista’s draped over Ymir. Betholdt and Reiner are sitting besides each other, blushing furiously, avoiding eye-contact. Apparently Eren and Armin left on a bathroom break, but it’s been a while and they haven’t returned. I sigh, leaning against an old maple tree.

I spend lunch with Sasha and Connie, who are having an intense conversation about the Madagascar movies and the cultural and societal impact they had. I let my attention wander, a tall boy catching my eyes. I squint at him— that shirt looks familiar. It’s freckles from history! Marco wanders off, and I briefly wonder where he could be going. There’s literally nowhere to go in Trost. What could he be up too? I shrug it off. I’m not going to get hung up over the whereabouts of some guy I met, like, two hours ago.

After Sasha has consumed all of her lunch and part of Connie’s, it’s time for her to get more food. I go with Sasha to raid the vending machine. She’s developed a not-so-legal method of getting free food, and I’m not above getting some chips out of it. Like any other teenage girl, Sasha goes on about some true crime case the whole time. I'm pretty sure I make out something about murderous geese. Seems legit.

Lunch is over all-too soon, and I have good ol’ math next. I used to be good at it, but functions is not where it’s at. In typical Jean fashion, I sit at an empty table. I glare at anyone who even dares look at the three other empty seats at his table. Most shy away. Annie just glares back, slumping unceremoniously into the seat diagonal from me. She may or not terrify me. Annie’s demeanor changes when she sees someone behind me. “Oh my god, it’s Edward Cullen.”

As if this year couldn’t get any worse, a beautiful goth girl takes the seat next to me. “I’m sorry? Did Shawn Mendez say something?” She doesn’t acknowledge me. Good times. I’ve lowkey only had a crush on her for, like, two years.

“That doesn’t even make sense” Annie slings one arm across the back of her chair.

“Isn’t Shawn Mendez a lesbian?”

Annie sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. She inhales, “Where do I even start, Ackerman—”

The two intimidatingly pretty girls continue to bicker and blatantly ignore me for a solid two minutes, when someone clears their throat. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

I look up to see a tall freckled boy standing across from me. I notice the gleam of a chain under the new kid’s shirt. Marco shifts uncomfortably, and I realize I’ve been staring. Shifting my gaze down, I nod. 

Annie and Mikasa’s attention has shifted, their sharp gazes tracked on Marco. Annie gives him once-over, smirking at him. “You can sit here,” she says quietly, nodding at her lap. Mikasa’s jaw clenches. An unspoken competition has begun.

Marco laughs uncomfortably, sitting carefully away from her in his own seat. “Thanks, I’m good.”

Annie shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

Mikasa stares at him with those sharp eyes of hers. “I haven’t seen you around before.”

“Uh, yeah, I just moved here. I’m Marco.”

“So, Marco,” Annie starts, “how’d you end up here?”

Marco rubs the back of his neck, looking away. He shrugs, “My mom got a job.” he doesn’t elaborate. Annie shrugs. I was actually wondering the same thing. I get the feeling that Marco’s not telling us everything.

The rest of the period continues like so, the two girls watching Marco like a predator does its prey. Marco sends me a few pleading glances, but I can only shrug.

Marco’s out of there faster than I am, which is saying something. I drag myslef to last period.

To be honest, I sort of fell asleep throughout all of physics. I don’t even know why I’m taking that class. I really couldn’t care less about fucking velocity. I shuffle out of the classroom, trying to stifle a yawn. At least I got a good nap out of it. 

I clock out as soon as I get home. You could say that napping is my hobby. My passion, even.

* * *

The rest of the week continues in the same mundane fashion. When Friday comes along, Sasha and Connie somehow manage to drag me to a party at Reiner’s. I regret everything.

Party is a bit of a stretch. If you haven’t been to a highschool party before, let me let you in on a little secret: they fucking blow. Trust me, you're not missing out. Picture this: twenty sweaty teenagers packed in Reiner’s musty basement, the air thick with smoke, a subpar classic canadian rock song playing in the background. I’m sitting on the arm of a couch, alone, sipping on an unidentified substance. Maybe it’ll kill me.

Armin and Eren are making out in a corner. I try to not think about that. Last I heard, Sasha and Connie went upstairs to cook meth using kitchen condiments. Because that’s gonna work. Krista is absolutely destroying Reiner at beer pong. Ymir is trying to beat up an intimidating body pillow of Jeremy Renner. I think she actually thinks it’s him. A few people are having a heated discussion in the corner about Shrek the Musical. Everyone else is gathered on the floor near my couch playing truth or dare. I just want to go home.

I zone out, staring at Reiner’s ceiling, to the tune of Ymir hollering profanities at Jeremy Renner. His ceiling tiles are the same weird fuckers that schools have. Annie’s voice brings me back to the party. I tense automatically. She scares me. She’s not talking to me, though. I relax a little. She’s just playing truth or dare.

She gives Mikasa a small devious grin. “Truth or dare, goth?”

Mikasa leans towards Annie. “Truth.”

Annie smirks. “Scared, Ackerman?” Mikasa just glares at her. Annie continues. “All right. So, Mikasa; who do you like?”

Mikasa considers this for a moment. Her steely gaze fixates on Annie. She smiles a little. “The new guy.”

“Marco?” It comes out pretty harsh.

Mikasa gives Annie a cold glare. “Yeah, and what of it? You’re not the only one allowed to like him.”

Annie looks upset. I sink into the couch, letting what just happened register. Mikasa and Annie like Marco. I feel a pang of jealousy. _Mikasa and Annie like freckles._ My head is spinning. I shouldn’t have had that drink. I’m... jealous?

I’m so confused right now. Why am I so jealous? Do I really like Mikasa that much? I think of the way that Marco says my name. Suddenly, I’m angry. Who gave him the right to have a cute smile? Why does Mikasa have to like him? Why does…

Mikasa likes Marco. Of course she likes him. He’s… Marco. Perfect, freckled Marco. And me? Well, I’m just me. I sigh. _Of course she likes him. How could you not?_

 _How could you not…_ I frown. There’s no way the guy’s that perfect. He has to be hiding something. _But what…_

The rest of the night is a blur. I probably just sat on the couch. All I remember is falling, and suddenly I’m on my bed. I lie there, waiting for the world to stop spinning, letting the weight of my existence slowly crush me.

I have a bad feeling about this year.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> thanks for taking the time to read my work! you guys are the best :)
> 
> this work means a lot to me. i just started at a new school this year, and i don't really have any friends. this is my emotinal support fic.  
> 


	2. suspicion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Jean is a little bitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> your support and kind comments are so bad for my ego. I love you guys so much, tf??

  
After a weekend full of sleep and a massive head-ache, I decide that I am never drinking alcohol again. Honestly, most of the party’s a blur. All I really remember is Mikasa confessing that she likes Marco and Annie getting jealous. Oh, and _me_ getting jealous. 

I sigh. Why him? What does he have that I don’t? Okay, that’s an easy question. But still, it stings a little. Sometimes I wish other people liked me. Hell, I wish _I_ liked me. I’m not sure why I’m such a douche most of the time.

Whatever. Bottom line: I’m jealous of the guy. There’s something about him that’s so endearing, that draws people to him. There’s no way the guy’s actually that perfect. I know he’s hiding something, and I get the feeling that it’s something big. _I’m going to figure you out, Marco_.

* * *

Marco and I had developed an acquaintanceship of sorts. He would take his seat next to me, greet me with that sweet smile of his, and I would squint at him incredulously. In a nice way. We had a good thing going on. I’m embarrassed to admit that I kind of wrecked that.

Waking up the Monday after the party is like being hit by a parade of eighteen-wheelers. Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to start school before nine? It’s eight am and you’re expecting me to pay attention? Yeah, I don’t fucking think so.

In my weary-eyed, sleep-deprived state, I slump into my seat next to Marco. He greets me with that sickly-sweet smile of his. I just glare back. His smile wavers only a little. He looks confused. Whatever.

Marco attempts to make conversation with me, but after a few curt answers, he gets the memo and gives up. He sends me a few worried glances, but doesn’t pry. 

I spend the day carefully observing Marco, trying to figure out what makes him so special. I am very discreet in my spy methods. Every time we make eye-contact and he furrows his brows confusedly, I immediately look away. Genius. He won’t suspect a thing.

The next few days carry on like so.

I watch him leave the school for lunch. Where is he off to? Not before I catch Mikasa winking at him, though. Why him? I’m quiet most of lunch, Marco on my mind.

I drift through the week, preoccupied with Marco. 

It’s Friday, and my last period is math. Marco tries to be nice to me, but I’m not having it. I will not let his kind words and offers of a pencil seduce me to his dark ways. Mikasa and Annie are flirting with him, but they spend more time glaring at each other than they do looking at him. I almost feel bad for the guy. Not really, though. The bell rings and Mikasa and Annie are out of there. I’m about to leave along with them, when Marco calls out to me. “Jean! Um, could I maybe talk to you for a moment?”

I stop. _Marco wants to talk… to me?_ I get a weird feeling in my stomach. It makes me uncomfortable. Honestly, I don’t really feel like talking to Mr. Perfect. But maybe this is the opportunity I was looking for…

I turn to face Marco, an eyebrow raised. “What do you want, Freckles?”

He frowns. “Freckles…” he muses. “Huh.” Thanks Marco, now I’m embarrassed. He flashes me a smile. “I’ll take it.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I grumble. It’s not supposed to be a compliment. Now that I think about it, it’s not really an insult either. Damn, I gotta come up with a meaner name. “Walk with me, Bodt.” I turn and head out, not waiting to see whether he follows. Sure enough, Marco trots up beside me as soon as we’re out of the concrete hellhole they call a learning institution. He studies me, not saying anything. I just keep on walking.

After about a minute of this, I’ve had it. I stop in the middle of the street, turning to face him. “Spit it out already. What do you want from me?”

Marco looks taken aback, eyes wide. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t realise I had been zoning out!” He laughs, a nervous habit of his that I’d picked up on during my careful observation of him. “Sorry, this is going to sound weird. Um, are you okay? You’ve been a little off these past few days. I know this is weird because we don’t really know each other, and I’m sorry if I’m intruding, but—” he rambles on like this for a little, and it’s ~~cute~~ pissing me off. I cut the guy off before his head explodes. 

“Marco. You’re rambling.”

“Oh!” he laughs again. “I’m so sorry Jean! Nervous habit, I guess.” Oh, I know. Wait. That sounded creepy. I—

Jesus, this guy’s a mess. How does everyone think he’s so cool and composed? “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Oh, I was just wondering if everything’s alright.” He shifts, looking away from me. He’s more quiet this time. “If I did something wrong.”

Shit, why does he have to look so sad and pathetic? I have to centre myself. I can’t let myself feel bad for him until I figure out what his deal is. I shrug, not really sure what to tell him. “I’m fine.”

Those warm eyes of him are furrowed in concern, studying me. I have to look away from him. He doesn't say anything. It’s starting to bother me. So what do I do? Stare at him back, of course. I squint at him. Woah. This guy has a lot of freckles. 

Yo, why is his face so red?

Marco takes a step back, and I realise that I tend to, uh, get kind of close when I observe people. The silence is nice. 

So, naturally, I do what I do best: I ruin it. “Look, Marco. Honestly? I think you’re hiding something. I don’t trust you, is all.”

Marco looks… huh. Well, he looks upset. Shit. I guess my charisma didn’t quite rub off on him. I was maybe a little too blunt. He starts to turn around. Fuck. Before he leaves, he turns to look at me. His dark eyes bore into me. “Maybe if you actually took the time to get to know me.” And then he’s gone.

So here I am, in the middle of the road in Nowhere, Ontario, feeling like a complete and utter asshole. 

“Screw you, Marco Bodt,” I mutter under my breath. Not because I mean it. But because he has a point.

* * *

Upon realising what a dick I’ve been, what do I do? Continue staring at him, of course. You think I have the confidence to own up to being a douche and apologise? Yeah, I don’t think so. I am physically incapable of not being a jerk for longer than three minutes.

This is my second week of staring at Marco like a creep, and I’ve begun to notice some of his quirks. The quick grin he flashes virtually everyone; how it fades after a while; and those sweet, genuine smiles reserved for a special few. I catch myself hoping he’ll smile at me like that one day. Because I’m awesome and amazing and he’ll have realised the extent of my incredibleness, of course. 

I’ve also noticed that he drinks an ungodly amount of caffeine. That can’t be good for him. His leg is on fucking steroids or something, it’s bouncing literally all the time. Probably because of all of that fucking caffeine. 

When he’s nervous, he tends to tug at the chain at his neck, hidden beneath his shirt. I also noticed the small hoop earrings he wears. Shinny. Honestly, I’m not that used to seeing guys with earrings. Trost has, like, twelve people. I can’t say they look bad on him, though. 

But sometimes, when he thinks nobody’s looking, that sunny exterior and those small smiles disappear. A dark, far-away look consumes him. It’s at times like those where I wonder where he goes.

There’s more to Marco than what he’s letting on.

* * *

As if things couldn’t get any more awkward, Marco and I have to work on a history project together. So here I am, 4:30 on a sunny, Wednesday afternoon, alone in the school library, with none other than the freckled legend himself to keep me company.

Our project’s on the Cold War in Canada or some shit. There’s a lot of tension between us (which, I admit, is entirely my fault), and it makes it kind of hard to do… well, anything. We haven’t even chosen a subject. I don’t know about Marco, but I can’t get any work done this way.

So, seeing as I cannot work, and to take advantage of this one-on-one with Marco. I take this time to study him up-close. Sure, I’m not studying history, but this is more interesting. I think things are going rather well, in fact. I mean, I think I’ve been very discrete in my observations. 

Marco, however, seems to think otherwise. After an hour of silence, occasionally interrupted by a few dead-ended conversations about which subject we should choose for our project, Marco’s apparently had enough. He puts down the book he was flipping through, looking me in the eye. He’s not smiling. “We’re not getting anything done like this,” he states, his eyes hard and tired. I notice a hint of exasperation in Marco’s generally patient and kind composure. I grunt in acknowledgement. I am a man of few words. His dark eyes search my face. As he takes the time to do so, I feel my face flush. He could not have caught me in a worse moment.

See, you know how I noticed earlier that I tend to, uh… get kind of… close to Marco when spying on him? Yeah, well, turns out this was one of those times. His eyes, devoid of his usual warmth, search me, his face only a few breaths away. Damn, how did I not notice how close I was getting? Marco’s voice has the same tired quality as before, different then what I’m used to. I’m not sure what he’s looking for, but he’s not going to find it. “Look, Jean: what’s your problem with me?”

To say I’m taken aback is putting it lightly. My eyes are wide, and I'm fumbling for the right words. “How— what— what makes you think that?” Impossible. How could he have known?

Marco stares at me incredulously. “Jean. You have been glaring at me nonstop for the past two weeks. It’s weird.”

“That’s just my face,” I mutter.

Marco shakes his head, his brows knit in concentration. “No, it’s not just that. You’ve already told me that you don’t trust me. Why, Jean? Why do you not trust me?” He runs an exasperated hand through his hair, a sigh escaping from his lips. “What did I do, Jean?”

I lean back, eyes wide. “Uhhhhhh,” I start, hoping my charming way with words will dissuade Marco. “You, uh, weren't supposed to notice.” Marco waits. He looks unimpressed. Why do I feel like a small, petulant child about to get a lecture? I clear my throat, crossing my arms defensively. I think I look cool. I hope. “I guess I do sort of have a problem with you.” God, I can’t believe I just said that.

Marco looks at me expectantly. And my eyes could just be fucking with me, but I swear he looks a litte hurt. “What exactly is the problem?”

I try to scold my expression into a cold, apathetic stare to match Marco’s. “I think there’s more to you then you’re letting on.” I shrug. “I don’t think you’re as perfect as everyone makes you out to be.”

Marco snorts. “And here I was thinking that _I_ had trust issues.” 

I lean in. There’s a warmth about him that draws people towards him. But while they feel that steady warmth, I see the shadow of a wildfire flickering in his eyes. I put it plainly “You’re hiding something, Bodt.”

Marco leans in as well, his gaze flickering to my lips. He’s so close. I can’t help it when my breath hitches. The ghost of a smile flickers over Marco’s soft lips, a foreign, dangerous gleam in his eyes. A flicker of those flames. “We’re all hiding something, Jean.”

With that, he slings his bag over his shoulder, turning to leave. His usual sunny smile is plastered back on his face, the dangerous, uncontrollable flames long-dissipated. “It was nice working with you.” Somehow, despite everything, I get the feeling that he's not lying. That scares me the most.

Marco leaves me in stunned silence, my brain whirring to catch up with what just happened. Holy shit.

 _What exactly am I getting myself into?_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> :)  
> 


	3. interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuesday evening with the Kirstein's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyy my lovely readers :)
> 
> sorry for the wait-- I know it's been a while. things have been rough lately and my mental health has been actin a little funky as of late. so much has happened in these past few months it's insane. I'm sorry that this update is so short, I wish I could give you guys a longer chapter :(
> 
> this is more of a glimpse into Jean's family bc I love them. I will try to write a chapter very soon!! I am kind of in a creative rut right now, so I'm not sure how when that will be...
> 
> oh yeah alksdjskldf also idc if this is unrealistic: turns out i'm physically incapable of righting straight characters. literally everyone in this story is gay. cope.
> 
> anywayssss... i hope you guys enjoy this little chapter :)

  
Tuesday nights are always the same. I come home, my rat of a sister sister barges in some fifteen minutes later, and we feverently avoid each other. By the time that 8 pm’s rolled around, Monica’s complaints and her stomach’s vocal performance have managed to annoy me so much that I make us a hearty dinner consisting of boiled corn, eggs and hot sauce out of spite. I know it’s petty, but she’s fourteen fucking years old. She wouldn’t last more than six hours on her own.

So here we are, gathered for our little Tuesday dinner or whatever, and Monica’s trying to convince me that the dragon from Shrek is hot. Somehow, _I’m_ the one who’s crazy here. Jabbing her fork at me, she prabbles on. “Look, all I’m saying is that I get where that donkey’s coming from. She’s got those MILF vibes, you feel me?”

No Monica, I do not feel you. I sigh heavily. “Mothers, do not abandon your children. They will turn out like,” I gesture at her flailing form vaguely. “Whatever’s… going on here.”

She glares at me. “Oh, because you’re one to talk.” 

I feel my face heating up. Anger? Embarrassment? Yeah, I have no place to talk. Had I been getting more than my regular six hours of sleep, I just know I would have come up with an epic comeback that would have absolutely destroyed her. I hadn’t had a good sleep since grade eight, however, so I just squint at her aggressively. More bickering ensues.

See, these Tuesday dinners with Monica and I are a regular thing. This conversation? All within the range of normal.

The front door opening and my dad walking through? Not normal. 

Monica and exchange a look before turning to him. “Dad? I thought you were at the store tonight?”

He flashes us that cheeky grin of his, rubbing both of our heads as we recoil. “Not tonight, kiddos! Sundeep’s taking over for me!” He winks at us. “Lucky you.”

Monica and I groan, trying to hide our smiles. Dad’s never home on Tuesdays.

All’s good and well until Dad takes interest in what we’re eating. “Lovely children of mine,” he starts softly, lifting the lid of the leftovers, “what the heck is this?”

I stiffen, glaring at Monica. The little brat better not—

“Dad,” Monica starts dramatically, “look at what Jean’s making me eat!”

Dad rushes over to coddle her. They’re literally the same person. I want to scream. “Oh, you poor thing.” He looks up at me, and I can tell he’s trying to scold his features into something that’s supposed to be disappointment. His eyes give him away. “Now why would Jean make you eat something so devoid of flavour and nutrients?”

I frown. “At least I made her something. It’s not my fault that Monica’s incompetent.”

Monica pouts. “I’m only fourteen.”

I throw up my hands. “Exactly!”

Monica and I continue to bicker, and my dad listens with that dopey smile of his lighting up his tired face, adding his (unwanted) two cents.

Outside, the wind is harsh and unforgiving. The last breaths of summer are quickly fading. The trees whistle and the wind sways but in here, in our little corner of the universe, everything’s okay.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no bc monica has a point
> 
> thank you for reading :)
> 
> i've missed you guys!!


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